


70% chocolate (the 30% is love)

by Parfaiti, planey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Tom Riddle is Bad at Feelings, You Decide, but he tries too, emphasis on tries, harry can't bake, he tries, i mean our beta is kind of each other, is this modern or magical, no beta we die like voldy, tom is forever exasperated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29262474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parfaiti/pseuds/Parfaiti, https://archiveofourown.org/users/planey/pseuds/planey
Summary: Tom arrives home, horrified, to find his beloved caked in... flour?Emphasis oncaked.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 14
Kudos: 141





	70% chocolate (the 30% is love)

**Author's Note:**

> fuck yeah it's the parfaiti-planey duo

Tom walked in, then paused at the sight before him.

“What the fuck,” he says, because _what_.

He stood there, waiting for an explanation, and saw a head of messy black hair peek out, almost abashed. 

Keyword on _almost_ , because Harry Potter apparently never had a sense of self-consciousness.

His beloved was caked in flour from head to toe. A tongue darted out the corner of his mouth, licking the edges of his lips clean. Powder adorned black strands of hair like a halo, and if Tom were to view the scene kindly (he never was kind, really - he was a natural-born pessimistic asshole), Harry looked like an angel sent straight from the heavens, sans the wings. A very flour-y angel.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Tom repeated.

"I... tried to bake?" Harry grinned, biting his bottom lip nervously.

“You’re not doing a very good job at it.”

"Okay, dumbass," Harry retorted, glaring. "Listen here. Just because I tried to do something _nice_ for you for your b-" 

Harry clamped his mouth shut and looked away quickly, pushing his glasses up and getting some flour on the lenses. He cursed quietly under his breath.

Tom stared. 

He never received a birthday cake. Ever. From growing up in the orphanage to studying into the wee hours of the morning, head bent over books, it had been a dog-eat-dog world. Nobody necessarily _cared_ about him, and vice versa. 

Cake was for the _nice_ kids who were always favored, the _loved_ … Not him. Not Tom Riddle.

“What a… snowy surprise,” he mumbled, edging his way closer to Harry as if he were an untamed, feral kitten. Gingerly, he took off Harry’s glasses and cleaned it with the hem of his dress shirt, careful to not grip it too hard. Heaven knew just how easily he could break things. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Harry sniffed in mock disapproval, then softened and wrapped himself around Tom, bodies melding to fit each other perfectly. The latter made a small, stifled squeak at the thought of his designer black coat and dress pants getting stained by the flour. Perish the thought.

“You uptight prick. It’s just flour.” 

Tom sniffed in turn. Typical Harry. He’d never understand the beauty of keeping designer clothes clean and crisp.

"Just flour my _ass_ ," he replied, snide. "Even a speck of dust sullies my otherwise impeccable appearance-"

He was cut off by Harry's giggle, blinking in surprise as the younger man reached out to mess up his perfectly coiffed hair.

“Stop- what- gah! That took ten minutes to brush,” he groaned as a mini sandstorm of flour shielded his vision, falling over his lashes. 

“Have I ever told you,” Harry began, blissfully unaware of Tom’s very much obvious fit. His eyes were glued on Tom’s hair, brushing the strands out with a tender hand - soft, warm, _home_ \- “That your hair’s cuter all unkempt?”

Tom didn't quite notice the gentle curve of his own lips, genuine and happy, as he leaned in for a short, sweet kiss.

"Sure, but, if I may ask," he murmured, looking into Harry's eyes - green and dizzying, so very bright and matchless and full of _love_ \- "what were you trying to accomplish with that?"

Harry pulled him closer, arms around his neck, getting him fully coated in white sprinklings of “clothing hazards”, as he would put it.

Harry merely grins, blowing hair out of his eyes. “Just wanted to distract you from the rest of the kitchen.”

Tom paused. "What?"

He leaned back and tried to stifle his unmanly screech of horror. The kitchen was a modern-day disaster; it looked like a rat had scavenged the living daylights out of it. Bits of egg shells decorated the island, and blobs of batter were stuck on every utensil. Bowls and pans were stacked - though it seemed more like they were thrown - by the sink.

Good god.

"Harry," he started, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, then pulling back with a hiss as he was reminded that it was covered in flour. Too late. "I- Harry, _no_."

"Harry _yes_ ," the shorter snorted derisively, though his impudent smirk quickly turned soft. "Come look at this, though!"

“For Merlin’s sake, if it’s yet another disaster that I’ll have to clean up, I’ll- oh.”

On the corner of the counter, laid a tall but crooked chocolate cake, with vanilla icing haphazardly dabbed on as if it was an afterthought. Terrible craftsmanship, that was for sure, yet it failed to drive away the unfamiliar (though less strange the more time he spent with his Harry) warmth that bubbled up in Tom’s gut.

“Is that really for me?” he asked, tentative. Harry rolled his eyes so hard Tom may or may not have feared it would get stuck there. 

"Yes, you, dumbass," Harry laughed, pushing him closer to the cake. "Who else?”

“I don’t know. Knowing you, you’d probably make confectioneries and pastries on the daily for every homeless cat on the street.”

"Cats can't eat chocolate, Tom, it's toxic for them-"

“Fuck. Dogs, I mean. Dogs. Wait. They can’t eat chocolate either.”

Harry smiled then, a warm, earnest thing that unlocked… something inside of Tom, a rapid clink and twist of keys in his locket. The feeling was something so precious and fragile that he was afraid to name out loud. "It's your birthday, you prick. Eat the fucking cake or whatever."

“Anything for you,” Tom grumbled, a half-hearted thing, though his reply was true in every sense of the word when it came to those irresistible puppy eyes and pouty lips. He grabbed a fork to have a taste.

It... could have tasted worse. But Salazar, did it taste like _absolute hippogriff shit_. By the gods, what did he put in this? Rodenticide? He couldn’t die now, not when it’d mean he’d have to leave behind his absolute mess of a lover.

He swallowed with as much grace he could muster. _Amp up the theatrics, Riddle._

"How was it?" Harry questioned, eyes lighting up. His expression was just so utterly... bright. Harry Potter was ethereal, to say the least.

And, believe it or not, Tom Riddle was a weak, weak man.

“It tastes incredible, darling,” he says, hoping his grimace came across as more of a beatific smile.

Harry grinned, so cheerful and so _loving_ , and, well...

Maybe it was alright to be weak. Just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> harry: ayo can i snort flour like cocaine?


End file.
